


Resentment

by LilNeps



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anti-Android Sentiments (Detroit: Become Human), Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 07:12:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17803430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilNeps/pseuds/LilNeps
Summary: The bed in his house had been empty for years, the only thing sleeping with him being regret and alcohol. The only thing waking him up being Sumo's tongue in the morning and a killer hangover, instead of the whispered laughter of a child.Of his child.





	Resentment

Hank sat down.

A donut in one hand and shitty coffee in the other, he sat at his desk, and the lack of eyes on him was bliss. The empty seat on the desk in front of him stared at him, cold, and he liked it that way. He didn't remember the last time someone sat there, and he didn't want to. He was happy just being left alone.

Not like he wasn't used to it.

The bed in his house had been empty for years, the only thing sleeping with him being regret and alcohol. The only thing waking him up being Sumo's tongue in the morning and a killer hangover, instead of the whispered laughter of a child.

Of his child.

He downed a third of his cup in one go, the bitter taste filling his mouth, though never bitter enough. Never as bitter as the loneliness that settled in his bones long ago.

His son. It had been so long since he last saw his smile. He had pictures, but even those were too painful to look at. They were kept face down, only to be glanced at when the drunken haze had settled on him and he didn't feel too weak, too nauseous to remember. Or maybe when he was too much so. He never could place it.

He didn't blame himself, but it didn't help. He _wanted_ to blame someone, to despise and scream at someone, anyone, to have someone to hold accountable. Yet all he had was a high doctor who didn't perform surgery, and an android. And he wanted to blame that doctor so, so bad. But who would've given him any thought, any agreement, when that doctor was nowhere near his child? No matter that his problem was exactly that, in some part. He would've seemed crazy.

So he only had another choice for his resentment. He raised his eyes from his coffee, to his varied stickers adorning his workplace. Made the desk feel more his, which he needed when he spent so much time at it. He had been thinking about this, about his son, about all the frustration bubbling inside of him; he thought long and hard and needed a target for all of this, before he went crazy.

Maybe it was already too late - the thought lingered for a second. But it was all he had, all the hopes of feeling any better at all.

He gave a bite to his donut, before setting it down and fishing something out of his pocket. He swore when his keys fell out as well, slapping the sticker on the desk to bend over and grab them, and when he straightened up his eyes stopped on it.

"We don't bleed the same colour".

Something didn't feel right, for a moment. But he had waited too long, long enough, for some sort of explanation, a feeble excuse for a closure.

He hung the sticker up. An android failed to save his son's life. An android didn't do his job right. An android didn't do enough. An android was to blame.

Androids were to blame.

Maybe this would be enough to stop his hand from lingering on his handgun a little too long for comfort on lonely nights.


End file.
